A Pirate's Life (is not) For Me
by BrightBlueSkies
Summary: Who was Brook before he died? Surely he was different then compared to who he is now. Surely something must have changed.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: new fic time, y'all. This is our man Brook when he was alive, and how a leader of a battle convoy for a kingdom got into a life of piracy. There will be a least 10 chapters, and an epilogue. Might update sporadically, but rest assured, it will be finished. **

* * *

Brook was proud to say he was seven years old. He was a whole hand and a third in age, and his mom said that was something to be proud of, so he was.

Brook ran around on his birthday that year and told everyone he knew that he was seven now and since he was older they should say happy birthday. They did, but they also seemed surprised. Only seven years old? He was so tall! They had thought he was one of the older kids and Brook smiled at the high praise. He looked like a big kid! Very impressive.

Now that he was seven, he finally got the present he had been asking from his dad for ages. His dad had told him he'd only get it when he was taller than it, and only when he knew he wouldn't break it. Brook was very glad he was tall for his age, otherwise he might not have gotten this present until later. He was glad he didn't have to wait! He was going to show it off to all his friends and then his teachers when he got the time. They'd all be so jealous!

Brook bounced on his toes as his dad brought out a large present wrapped in brown paper. He rushed to it, but his dad stopped him from toppling into his new gift. His mother laughed at him from where she sat in her chair.

"Now Brook," His dad said slowly, his serious tone off put by the amusement in his voice.

"You probably already know what this is... So I need you to promise me something, okay?" His dad said, and Brook nodded furiously. Anything to get the present. His dad took his pinky in his, and held it tight.

"Do you promise to take good care of this, for as long as you can?" His dad asked.

"Yes! I promise!" Brook said, and was met with a bright smile from his father. Brook smiled back because that's what you do when people smile at you. As soon as the present was in his hands, Brook tore open the paper and revealed a brand new, polished, violin. He looked at the glossy surface of the violin, his reflection looking back at him. He had a lot of curly hair, forming a large halo around his head and hiding his eyes. It was his mother's hair he was told, and he was told he was bound to get his father's cleft chin when he got older. He didn't particularly like the cleft chin, and his dad teased him all the time about how soon, he'd have a butt-chin too.

He squealed and hugged the instrument close, then twirled around twice. He loved it.

"I love it!" He said, and his dad beamed and his mom laughed from behind her hand, and it was one of the happiest moments in his childhood. But like all good things, it never lasts.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

His father was trying to teach him how to read sheet music. It was really hard! The strange new letters and numbers didn't mean what they normally meant, and the lines on the page looked just like that, lines on a page. How could these lines and shapes be music? He didn't understand.

His dad just patted him on the shoulder and told him he know soon enough. He supposed his dad would know, he was the expert, after all. His dad knew how to play all sorts of musical instruments. He knew how to play the piano, the tuba, the flute, but Brook's favorite was the violin. Learning all those other instruments just seemed hard. The violin was the most appealing though, not because it seemed like it would be the easiest to learn, but because it seemed... pretty. It was beautiful when it played, and Brook knew from the moment he saw his father play that first lullaby that he needed to do that too. It was Important.

So he begged his parents to teach him music. He wanted to be like them, he wanted to make music too! So his parents taught him. His mother had a soft, melodic voice that carried through walls, and she was teaching him how to sing. She said since he was still young he'd have a hard time singing the deeper parts, but he'd get there in time. He stayed up late with his mom some nights, when his dad would get home late and neither of them could go to sleep, and sing songs together, she taught him the lyrics, he sung them the best he could.

His dad taught him instruments, sheet music, and how to clean and maintain his new violin. It was much harder than singing. There were just so many parts, how was he supposed to remember them all? But his dad would often remind him when he got frustrated about his promise. He promised to take good care of his new violin, and he knew that if he didn't keep it, his dad would take it away. It was scary how much he listened to his dad's lectures after that. He listened with an odd intensity only a five year old could muster, and tried his hardest to keep all the new information in his head.

But it wasn't all music and fun for him, either. He had other things he needed to do, too. Like all his homework from school. And all his schoolwork from school. But it was just so boring! It was all math and history that made his fall asleep in class. And that usually meant he missed the lecture, and then he'd have to do the schoolwork at home along with his homework, which he didn't know how to do since he missed the lecture.

And then he'd have to go ask one of his parents for help, and that always got him in trouble because that meant he had slept through another lecture at school. He liked going to his mother for help more often than his dad, his dad usually put him in time-out for an hour when he asked for help. His mom would scold him, but she then help his with whatever project he needed to get done and then send him to bed early.

He had friends at school, though, so that was nice. He'd play with them in the yard before and after class, and they'd play tag or hide and seek or eye-spy. He told his friends about his new violin and how his dad taught him music. He was so excited, which was why he got confused when his friends laughed at him. They said music was for losers. Brook got upset and he told them that, no, music was super cool and they were just stupid. They got mad at that, and shoved him to the ground. It didn't hurt, but Brook was crying and he got up and bit the boy who pushed him down.

That's how he got sent home early and was promptly grounded.

He was in his room on his bed when his mother decided to check in on him.

"Brook, dear?" She called quietly into the room. He was curled up on his bed covers, his violin laying next to him. He was quiet.

"Come on, sweet pea. There's no need to pout." She said, shutting the door behind her. He curled up tighter in response. She sat down next to him and waited patiently.

"Alright, Brook. Tell me what's wrong." She said at last. Brook looked at her through his makeshift cocoon.

He mumbled.

"Those aren't proper words, dear." She said, and peeked at him through the gap in his fingers.

"I bit someone, today." He said, a bit louder than before.

"Would you care to tell me why?" She asked softly.

"He made me mad." Brook said.

"So you bit him?" She said, and he nodded. She seemed to take in this information for a moment before picking the boy up by his armpits and plopping him down on her lap. He squeaked in reply, and soon he was hugging his mom tight around the waist.

"Brook, just because something makes you mad, doesn't mean you should get violent like that." She said, and Brook frowned up at her.

"But what about when-" He started, and she shushed him quickly.

"Of course there's times when you get to be physical when you're mad, but this wasn't one of them, Brook. This is just something you have to learn as you grow up, and you aren't done growing." She said.

"I'm seven years old." He said defiantly.

"That you are, and since you're so mature, you're going to write an apology to the boy you bit to give him tomorrow." She said, and he groaned. She smiled down at him, unable to remain disappointed in her boy for too long.

"What got you so mad in the first place, Brook? You've always been my happy little boy, what changed today?" She asked when his dismay had passed.

"They were being stupid!" He said immediately.

"Stupid how?" She asked.

"They said music was for losers." Brook grumbled and his mother laughed, he voice like bells.

"What did you think was going to happen?" She asked, and she received a very grumpy frown.

"Not for my friends to be dumb." He said flatly. She patted his hair gently, but soon the smile slipped from her face.

"Listen, sweet pea? I know you like music, but... there are other things to learn out there, you know?" She said.

"Yeah, I know." Brook said.

"You don't have to do what we do, just because we do it, Brook."

"But I want to!" He said, suddenly looking scared. Was she going to take away his violin?

"Yes, I know, but you can learn other things, too. Like me! Just because I sing doesn't mean I can't do my job!" She said, and Brook had to agree. His mother was a seamstress by trade, and she was pretty good at it too. She made all his clothes, which she had to do often because he grew so fast.

"And what about you father? He knows all sorts of music but does that stop him from fishing?" She asked, and he shook his head. Not once had his dad stopped fishing for music. Where was she going with this?

"Okay...?" He said, curious.

"The thing is, Brook, making music is... okay as a hobby. It just isn't something that can get you money though. People don't usually like musicians because they're considered poor." She explained.

"Oh."

"I think you should start thinking about what you want to be when you grow up, Brook. I know you think you're grown up now, but when you're actually an adult you're going to look back on this and realize you weren't mature at all." She said, scooping him from her lap and placing him next to his violin.

"Now, get some sleep, I think you need a nap." She said, and he groaned yet again.

"I'm not tired!" He said, and she scoffed.

"But you are grounded, now take a nap and when you wake up, we'll work on that apology letter."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Years pass, and Brook grows even taller. The kids in his class often joke that he'll never stop growing, and he rolls his eyes. He's ten years old now, and he honestly looks like he's fifteen. He's so tall even his own teachers mistake his age, and often hand him the higher grade's papers to do instead of his own grade. This, of course, does not help him achieve more in school. As a matter of fact, it makes things considerably worse.

He almost always takes his work home and shows it to his mother. She is incredibly smart, and usually knows exactly what a certain problem is, not to mention she knows a whole lot about the islands' history, however accurate that may be.

Brook had decided, through rigorous trial and error, to never, under any circumstances, bring his homework to his father, ever. A fact hard learned from the last time he had ever brought work he needed help with. He could still feel the belt marks on his thighs. He shudders simply thinking about it.

His father in recent times had been... unpleasant. He'd come home from school, or from playing outside, and he'd find his dad staring at him. He would get uncomfortable, ask his dad what was wrong, and be quickly shoved aside to do some chores. It was bizarre. And the look he got... it was full of anger.

Brook didn't understand.

He didn't understand why his dad had suddenly stopped teaching him music, or why he had just stopped talking to him completely. He also didn't understand why he had been giving his mom the same treatment.

Late at night, when they thought he was asleep, he'd hear them arguing. Shouting, mostly done by his father. But he could hear his mother too, shouting along with him, crying sometimes. It was so unlike how he had heard their voices before, melodious and intertwined. Now it was all breaking glass and thunder.

He found himself teaching himself music on his own, away from the house late at night. He'd crawl out his window, violin in hand, and scurry off to the forest nearby and try and remember the chords he had been taught. He folded up sheet music his dad had once written for him and kept them in his pocket, and practiced them too.

A legend was born on his island because of this habit, of the singing child who'd sing songs in the dead of night.

He hoped that whatever was bothering his parents so much would go away soon. He missed getting hugs from his dad.

It did not get better on its own.

It did not get better at all.

He had just arrived home from school when he noticed one of the windows open wide. Which was odd, since none of the windows in his house opened at all. He walked up closer to the wall and realized the window was broken. Frowning, he peeked over the broken glass and inside. His parents were arguing again. That was weird, usually they kept to themselves until it was nighttime. Both of them were shouting more than usual, too. He can't believe he hadn't heard it from the front porch.

He watched them wearily from his vantage point.

"I don't care! Who Was she? How long have you been abandoning this family-" That was his mom, and his father spoke next.

"Me? Abandoning? You're the one who had a bastard son with that asshole-"

"You don't know that!"

"The proof is in the pieces, look me in the eye and tell me that boy is my son!"

"It shouldn't matter what he looks like, you raised him-"

"You raised him, he's your problem!"

"And like you've been such a saint, you're a cheating-"

"Oh, you're the one to talk-"

They went on like this for a while. The shouting match finally reached its crescendo when Brook heard something be thrown against the wall and shatter. Abrupt silence wrapped itself around the household. He backed up away from the window and went to the front door and knocked on it lightly. Normally he'd just walk right in, but he didn't feel like he could do that now. The door remained shut for a second, but was opened a moment later.

"Brook, you're home early." His mom said from the doorway.

"No, I got out late today." He clarified, and she blinked.

"O-Oh. Well... come on in..." She then leaned down and whispered, "But please, try to be quiet."

The rest of the day progressed much like that. There was a tension in the air that Brook could instantly recognize between his parents. His mother seemed antsy in her seat, and her eyes would often flicker between Brook and his father. His father on the other hand was almost ram-rod stiff, never looking at either of them, focused on whatever task he had put his mind to. The result was the house being eerily quiet, every step being heard, the slightest wheeze being known.

Brook was on edge. He didn't know how to handle this. He feared if he moved to fast something would jump out and bite him, worse yet, his dad would lash out.

They didn't have dinner that night. His mom would be the one to make the food, but as soon as she got near the kitchen his dad snapped at her. Both she and Brook flinched away, and she did not try to go into the kitchen again. Brook was simply sitting at the table, fingers folded, trying to be a small as possible. He thought that hiding in his room would be smarter than sitting out here, but he was too weary to get up. Better to stay hidden in plain sight.

Hours passed like that, until finally his dad slipped away from the room and into the master bedroom. His mother let out a small breath. The sun had already slipped under the horizon, but the land was still bathed in a pink glow. His mother knelt before Brook, a window directly behind her, the light creating a halo of her hair. She looked worried.

"Brook, tomorrow, when you go to school, I need you not to come home." She said, quietly. Brook desperately wanted to ask why, but his voice was caught in his throat. He nodded instead.

"You'll go over to the town square, okay? Find that nice shop woman who sells the flowers. She'll let you stay there until I come and get you."

Brook managed to make a broken sound from his mouth. He didn't understand. Why did he have to do this? Why the sudden change? Why did things have to change? Why couldn't it be like before, when his parents didn't fight and he didn't come home to his father glaring daggers at him.

"Brook, please. I need you to promise me." She said, and she gently wiped away the tear that was forming under eye.

He sniffled and then squared his shoulders. He could do this. He was ten years old, he was a big boy. He could do this.

He nodded firmly.

"There's a good boy."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He was woken up late in the night yet again by shouting. But it was different to the normal arguing that he heard. Instead, there was screaming, accusations, someone crying loudly. The noise grated his ears and sent him on edge.

He sat up and looked at his shut door. Bright candle light shone through the cracks, and Brook strained to understand what his parents were saying. He couldn't. They were certainly loud enough, but he couldn't make out their words due to how much they were speaking over each other.

Something told Brook to get out of bed. It was not thought, it was a command that some force told him to do, and he did. His feet gently patted against the floor, unheard under the commotion. Should he hide? He didn't think there was anywhere he could hide. He didn't want to be scared anymore.

He looked at his violin, leaning against the wall. He picked it up and felt better, and he didn't know why. It just felt comforting in his hands.

He jumped when there was a sudden boom from outside his room. There was silence until he heard small broken sobs coming from the living room.

He clutched his violin tightly, like the instrument could protect him from whatever monster lurked behind the door. He sucked in a breath. He didn't want to be scared. He was a big boy, he was a good boy.

He approached his door like one would approach a snake. He turned the knob without making a sound. He left the safety of his room and enter the brightly lit hallway, which was like fire on his eyes.

The crying could be heard more clearly now. He followed the sound. His heart beat in his chest and it filled his ears. He came to a corner and slowly poked his head around it.

He could see into the living room. He saw his dad, hunched down on the ground, his head in hands, crying. He saw something red by his father's feet. Why was his dad crying? He dared to look a bit farther into the room.

His mother was on the ground. She was covered in red. She was still. Brook could not see her face.

His father abruptly stood, the crying ceased. Brook quickly ducked back into the hallway and held stock still. He heard footsteps and then his father was looking down and him, a chef knife covered in red gripped in his right hand. It was blood, some part of his mind whispered, and he didn't dare believe it. If it was blood, what was his mom covered in?

"You." His father said, his voice like nothing he's ever heard before. His father's face was cast in shadow, he couldn't see his expression.

His dad suddenly rolled his neck, several pops and clicks coming from the older man. Brook took a step back. This man was not his father. Not anymore.

"You're not my son. You never were." The man said. He lifted the knife and examined it in the new light. The red dripped of the blade and onto the floor by his feet.

Suddenly he lurched forward, and Brook could see the wide eyed expression on his face. His gaze was staring yet unseeing.

"And I'm not your father!" He snapped, and all at once he pounced on Brook, knife in hand. Brook screamed and jumped forward. Whether it be instinct or luck, this caused his father to stumble through his momentum, and he went skidding across the hard wood floors.

Brook, violin held like a sword, took off into the living room, past his mother, past the kitchen and was flying out the front door in an instant. He could hear his father all the way there, just a few steps behind and screaming like a man possessed.

He was across the front lawn and onto the dirt road when he felt something wiz by his ear, brushing it and cutting locks of hair. The knife his father had been holding embedded itself into the ground a few feet away from him, and Brook tore down the street and took a sharp left, and he just ran. He ran faster than he ever ran before. His bare feet kicked up dirt and pebbles but he didn't feel any of it. He was clutching his violin was held to his chest like a security blanket.

He didn't know where to go. What to do. He was lost, lost lost lost. He couldn't hear his dad but surely was nearby. He was in a yard full of carts. Long distance cart that were pulled by horses when you needed to move to a new city. He climbed into one of them, and hid among the boxes, a hand clamped down over his mouth as he saw the shadow of a monster wearing his dad's face walk outside.

The silhouette looked around for a moment, before he heard loud cursing. Death threats. Promises that he wouldn't be hurt if he came out. Brook did not listen. He stayed there, frozen, as tears ran down his cheeks.

Soon, the man left, running off into the darkness. Brook held still until long after he was sure the man was gone. He then cried softly into his hand, his favorite instrument by his side. After that, Brook passed out, and was unknowingly carted off into the big city.

He dreamed of nothing


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, it's chapter 2. **

* * *

He hit the ground with a thud, and his violin came crashing after him. The coachman, a rather nasty man, was glaring down at Brook with contempt.

"And don't you dare think of coming back and hitching another ride on my carriage!" He snapped, and Brook blinked. That was certainly a way to be woken up. He was drowsy, and his head hurt, and he was tired. He looked around. He spotted his violin lying in a muddy puddle a few feet away from him and was quick to snatch it back up.

Panicked, he looked his instrument over and sighed in relief. Just a bit muddy, but it could be cleaned. Holding it to his chest, he again reacted to his new environment. A worn dirt road led to a large city off in the distance. He could see the cart he had hidden in the night before continuing on its merry way towards the city, without him. The other direction of the road was just miles and miles of grassy land. He saw the road follow the hills and disappear into the horizon.

Brook didn't quite know how to feel. He had been so startled that the previous night's occurrences hadn't really crossed his mind. Did he just... walk home? That seemed rather silly, as that would be long distance to travel on his own. He looked back at the city. It was huge. A bigger group of houses than Brook had ever seen before. He could see towers looming over the buildings, and could barely make out the guards that surely patrolled them. Maybe someone there could help him.

He didn't have many options.

He walked along the dirt path, his mind and emotions not yet caught up with his body. His every move felt otherworldly to the ten year old, like his limbs were simply being pulled along by puppet strings. His brain felt fuzzy, and he had to blink away the blank eyed stare that threatened to overtake his expression too many times.

The violin was the only thing that was keeping him together. It was the only thing that was familiar to him, even if he couldn't play it without the bow.

The sun beat harshly against his back, and Brook was sweating up a storm. His nighttime pajamas, which were excellent for keeping him warm in the cold of night, seemed too suffocating now. He didn't even have socks on, and he had to avoid stepping on the many rocks that littered the road.

When he finally made it to the edge of the city, Brook gave pause. He saw so many people scurrying about. People in horse drawn carriages, on the sidewalk, going in and out of stores. He watched them for a moment, blown away at the sheer amount. There hadn't even been half these many people in his hometown.

Brook saw then, in the middle of the road, a man snatched a woman's necklace from her throat and bolt. Brook ducked away from the road as the man came running past, and the screams of the woman could be heard. He clamped his free hand over his ears to try and block out the sound, it reminded him too much of the night before. He instead looked back at the running thief, glittering jewels locked in his hand, sprinting down the road Brook had been on just seconds ago. Several people came chasing after the man a moment later, and one of them Brook recognized as a royal guard.

The guard ran faster than the other people and soon tackled the thief. Brook watched in awe as the guard, dressed in reds and glittering golds, came back triumphant with the criminal unconscious in his arms. The jewels were then returned to the woman, who blushed at the guards heroism. The thief was then carried off to who knows where, and both he and the guard were soon out of sight.

Brook looked to his violin in his arms, then back to the place where the thief had gotten tackled. There had been thieves in his hometown, sure, but they had been few and far between, everyone seeming to trust each other. He got the distinct feeling that wasn't the case with this city. He ran his fingers over the drying mud on his violin, scratching it off and revealing its polished surface.

He wasn't going to let anyone take this.

Looking around, Brook spotted a niche in the ground, where a particularly large boulder made a tiny cave in the soil. He ran over to it, and finding the tiny cave rather large, he gently tucked his instrument into the niche and prayed no one would find it.

He didn't quite know why losing or damaging his violin caused so much anxiety in him, but it did.

Maybe it was because he had promised his dad- no. Brook shook his head and cleared those thoughts away, not yet ready or willing to think about them.

He turned his attention back to the city, and sucked in a breathe. He was a big boy. He was brave. He could do this.

He crossed the threshold of the city, and didn't look back.

* * *

Brook was eyeing a rather juicy, and tempting looking, sweet roll that was on display on the baker's stand. The baker, a plump and short woman with a short fuse, was currently talking to the other stand owner next to her. She had he back turned, and, if he was quick enough, Brook could take the sweet roll and be gone in an instant. No one would notice in the busy streets, and the woman would likely think it had fallen off its shelf.

Weighing the pros and cons in his mind, Brook came to the conclusion. He was hungry. He was hungry and he doubted another opportunity like this would arise again. Coming out of his hiding spot between the two buildings he was tucked away in, he made his way over to the stand and snatched the treat and immediately went back to his hiding spot.

Holding the sweet roll to his face, his heart racing, he watched from the shadows as the baker turned back to her stall and didn't notice anything. Not yet, but she would likely notice soon. He left out a breath, and he quickly stuffed the roll into his mouth, it had a lemon filling, and chewed it quickly. The roll had left sticky, sugary residue on his fingers, and he was keen to lick it off. Feeling less hungry now, by a small margin, he allowed himself to recede further into the alley.

It had been a year since he'd been dropped off at the city border. Since then, every day had been a struggle. The niche he had found at the beginning had become his home of sorts, and it was filled with various things he had found and/or taken. A patchwork blanket, as well as his old pajamas, were what he slept on at night. There was of course his violin, which he still couldn't play, and a book of fairy tales he had grabbed from someone's bag.

He often found himself reading the stories to himself late at night, entranced by the tales of knights and heroes and princesses and dragons. He thought about being a knight or hero when he grew up, and the ideas enticed him. But reality always came crashing down. It was not practical, he thought, old words from his mother echoed through his mind.

His first real interaction with the city had not been a pleasant one. Anybody he had approached had scoffed at him or had screeched at him to leave. He hadn't known at the time, but his muddy clothes and bare feet immediately made him unwanted. He was no longer a ten year old child, but a street rat looking to loot people's pockets. And because of this, that's exactly what he became.

Sort of. He wasn't very good at picking pockets, and his previous attempt made him shy away from the idea completely.

He had new clothes. Well, they weren't new, they were found in the trash, but they were new to him. He had grown out of his old clothes pretty quickly, and though they remained soft, he could no longer wear them.

Brook was also pretty sure he smelled bad, considering the state of the other kids he met on the streets. They smelled terrible, but he'd never say that to them.

The other kids... well. They weren't mean, per-say, but they were definitely world weary. He remembers being approached by one of the older kids once. It was some girl, her eyes tired and worried. She had told him if he ever got lost on the streets late at night, he shouldn't try and find his way back, but instead find a hiding spot and stay there for the night. He hadn't understood at the time, but he nodded and told her he would. She looked relieved at that, and he never saw her again.

Apparently kids who were caught wandering the streets late at night were known to go missing, and then come back months later, seemingly broken. (He doesn't know what that means; he doesn't want to)

He walked the back of the alley, and placed a careful hand on the wooden fence that separated the two buildings from their backyards. He pushed on the weakest panel, and it gave way, tilting slightly to the left. He ducked through the gap and was soon making his way to the edge of town. He'd had enough excitement in the city square for one day.

He made it back to his boulder, crawling inside his little makeshift home. If was dark, save for the light of the sun outside. He'd often read his book of stories until the sun's light had faded, and it was too dark to read.

That's what he was planning to do now, as he'd done for the past year or so. He crawled under the blanket, picked up the book, and started to read about the boy who was trapped inside a huge whale, lost at sea. He read until the rays of light had dimmed and the night's cold air nipped at his skin. He tucked the book away, right next to his violin, which had been cleaned very carefully and kept away from any more mud.

Under the blanket, he looked out from his home to the quickly setting sun. He had turned eleven a couple months ago. Or at least he thought he did, he was pretty sure it had been April. He hadn't gotten a present. He had got a present every year for his birthday, except this one. He had gotten his violin on his birthday. He remembers how much he had wanted it.

All he wanted now was for his parents to back, his mother okay, and his father in his right mind. He'd give almost anything for that to happen.

He scrubbed his face, wiping away the tears that were already rolling down his cheeks. His hands couldn't stop it though, and soon he was hiccuping and crying into his knees. He knew he should be quiet, but like every other time he had cried, he couldn't stop himself.

When he had first been kicked to the ground all those months ago, he ran back to his violin. He had held it tight, and cried as the weight of what had happened came crashing down on top of him. He felt smothered by emotions, and hadn't known what to do. He was scared and alone, and he ended up humming an old lullaby his mother had sung him.

It helped.

It had been like she was right next to him, and suddenly could breathe. He sang that song every time he had felt alone since, for just a moment of feeling like his mom was there.

Face wet, Brook sang himself to sleep, and dreamed of being lost at sea and a huge, lurking whale in the water.

* * *

Captain Dodraki, current leader of the royal militia in his sector, was an egotistical man with a heart of gold, though you'd be hard pressed to get that information out of him.

He was currently heading towards Obbligato City, trading capital of the entire empire. He was not going there for any fun reasons, unfortunately, and was instead sent to deal with the continually growing number of homeless people who lived there. And there were a lot of homeless people. Which in turn meant that there was a lot of thieves, and that meant people were losing money-

It was a big mess, and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about it.

He had a travelling party of twelve with him, and they were all bores. He had tried to talk to them about his exploits, and instead of listening they had rolled their eyes at him! The nerve!

Dodraki was at the cusp of the city when he stopped his horse and turned to face his men.

"Alright, listen up. I trust you've all been briefed on what we're trying to do here, correct?" He asked, and was answered with several affirmatives.

"Then you must know that this is going to be a fruitless effort." Dodraki said, and several of the soldiers looked mildly uncomfortable.

"So instead of wasting our time arresting a fraction of the homeless population, we're going to..." The captain pulled out a lance, "Go hunting!" He shouted, and kicked his horse off. When his men did not follow, and instead sat there looking confused, he came back and snapped at them to keep up or miss their salary.

Dodraki, by his own admission, was an excellent hunter. He figured hunting big game out in the wild was a much better way to spend time than rounding up crooks, who were honestly just people who were down on their luck.

The thing is, he couldn't just do nothing and expect to be let back home willy-nilly. They expected him to do something while he was here, and he supposed feeding all the homeless would be a good thing to do! And this way, he got to go hunting, so double win for him.

He held his hand up to the rest of the groups and they stilled their horses.

"See that boulder there?" He whispered to his men, "There's something big living under it."

"How do you know that?" One of the men asked, and he smirked.

"The scuff marks next to it, something's been digging there for a while." he explained, "Now quiet! Off your horses, I'm going to get near it, one of you, draw your bow."

None of the soldiers knew what they were doing or why, but they did as they were told. When Captain Dodraki came home with a report that he'd done absolutely nothing to fix the thieving problem, it would be on his head, not theirs.

Dodraki got low to the ground, to the point he could see the individual blades of grass. He scuffled forward, a knife from his belt out and ready.

He got to the boulder, and paused at the dark entrance. It was hard to see inside, due to the dim morning light, but he could hear breathing. Weapon in hand, he considered what to do. If he threw the knife, he could miss and just wake whatever was sleeping, and then he'd be weaponless and in front of an angry animal. If he reached in, he ran the risk of getting his hand bit off. He looked at his hands, and then considered his life.

He didn't need his left hand.

Quick as a viper, he reached his fingers into the niche in the ground and grabbed something soft. Feeling his prize, he ripped it out of the hole, fully prepared to stab it.

Instead, it screamed and Dodraki let go in surprise. The animal- a boy- fell to the ground with a thump and Dodraki was left speechless as he shielded his face and said;

"Don't hurt me!"

Okay, so there really was a huge homeless problem, if a little boy could be found immediately outside the city limits.

Dodraki looked at the knife in his hand and quickly tossed it to the side.

"Hey, hey hey hey, it's okay! I'm not going to hurt you, don't worry!" He said to the little boy, and he looked up at him with big eyes. Jeez, how old was this kid? Something in him told him that he couldn't be older than twelve, but he was so tall.

"Who, who are you?" The kid asked, and Dodraki jumped to his feet.

"I'm Captain Dodraki! You may have heard the stories, and I can guarantee, they're all true." He smiled and gave a wink to the boy, and the kid just looked confused.

"Hey, kid, you care to tell me why you were sleeping down in that pit?" Dodraki asked, and the boy went beet red.

"Well, um." He said, and then didn't elaborate.

"Well?"

The boy remained stubbornly quiet.

Dodraki sighed. It was going to be like this, then.

"Okay, okay. Never mind. Let's start with something else, then. What's your name, kiddo?" Dodraki asked, and the boy seemed to calm down.

"Oh, uh. I'm Brook." Brook said, and Dodraki smiled. He knelt down and extended his hand. The boy carefully took the hand in his own, much smaller palm. Dodraki shook the hand gently.

"It's nice to meet you, Brook."

* * *

It felt like he was on the top of the world. Brook was sitting on Captain Dodraki's horse, a big white stallion decorated in ribbons and gold plates, and he was wrapped in Dodraki's jacket. It was much too big for him, and Brook was swimming in the extra material. The jacket was white and blue and gold, marking him a higher rank than the soldiers who wore red.

He was sitting directly behind the older man, and they were walking down the usually busy streets of the city. But now all the traffic parted ways like they had the plague, people even going as far to bow to them as they passed.

Brook was baffled. He had never gotten this type of treatment, ever, and suddenly being exposed to people looking at him with reverence was a bit jarring.

Not to mention there were twelve other men on horses, all in neat rows behind Dodraki.

"So, just around this corner, correct?" Dodraki asked, cutting Brook from his thoughts.

"Yeah." Brook said, just loud enough for him to hear. They turned a corner and were suddenly in the city square. Brook sunk deeper into the jacket in an attempt to hide himself. When Dodraki had first said they were going to the square to talk to the baker woman, Brook had thought he was getting ratted out. But Dodraki promised that wasn't the case, and that put away most of the butterflies in his stomach to rest. It had all happened because the captain had started asking all these questions; what happened to your parents? when's the last time you had a bath? what's the last thing you had to eat?

Dodraki slid off the horse and landed in front of the baker's stand. The woman behind it, whom Brook had always known to be a strict, prickly lady, was shaking in her shoes.

"Hello!" Dadraki greeted.

"Hello, sir. What... what can I get for you." She stuttered out, and Dodraki tapped his chin in thought.

"Well... I could go for a few apple fritters later, but business first!" Dodraki reached into his pocket and then placed his hand on the table. He left behind a large but neat stack of gold coins in its wake, and the baker gawked.

"See that little man on my horse there?" Dodraki asked, and jabbed a thumb in Brook's direction, "He took something of yours without paying. So I'm paying!" Dodraki smiled, and Brook relaxed.

"O-Oh. Well, if that's all..." She said.

"Not at all! Me and the boys, see, we're all starving. We'll be buying your whole stock." He said.

"My _whole _stock?" She asked, befuddled.

"Yup."

There was an exchange in money, and soon they were leaving the square and a very baffled baker. They left with at least thirty boxes stuffed full of pastries, to which Brook was handed one.

Brook held the paper box in his hands, and had to restrain himself from digging into it.

"So, what do you think?" Dodraki asked.

"Um, of what?" Brook said.

"Those fritters! They better be good, they cost a small fortune." He explained, and Brook blinked.

"I can have some?" He asked, which caused the captain to turn around and look at the small boy.

"You haven't ripped into those yet? Crap kid, you've got more restraint than I do, and you're starving. Of course you can eat them, I bought them for you!"

Brook didn't have time to think about how the nobleman had bought so many pastries for him, he just popped of the lid and started stuffing his face. The apple fritters were sweet and crunchy and he couldn't get enough. He heard Dodraki laughing.

"There's the spirit! Ha ha, I'd say save some for me, but we've got plenty."

Brook was barely listening. The apple fritters were like water after a long drought, and he couldn't get enough.

"But, hey. Don't fill up too much." Dodraki said, which made Brook pause.

"We wouldn't want to spoil dinner, now would we?"

And for the first time in a long time, Brook smiled.

* * *

Brook was full. It was an amazing feat, that. He hadn't felt full in what seemed like forever. He was also, understandable, very tired. He had a long day, and the Captain hadn't let him go back to his hole to sleep. Instead, he had gotten his things and was brought to their hotel and was currently being tucked into bed forty times his size after a warm bath.

He smiled up at Dodraki shyly. Dodraki was holding his story book, flipping through the pages carefully, which Brook appreciated.

"Heroes, huh?" Dodraki said, and Brook nodded.

"Yeah, they're really cool." He said, and was given another dazzling smile from the captain.

"That reminds me." Dodraki said thoughtfully, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I dunno." Brook said. He ran his fingers over the soft sheets he was wrapped in for the umpteenth time.

"Really? Nothing you want to be?"

"Not really. I never really thought about it."

"Well, what would you say to being a hero? Like in this book?" Dodraki tapped the cover.

Brook considered. Being a hero, saving people, being loved and being accepted were very nice things to have, and were things only heroes seemed to get. He wouldn't mind being a hero.

"That would be cool." He said honestly. Dodraki's smile, if at all possible, got wider.

"Then I think you're going to like my idea, Brook." He said, and then sat down next to Brook on the bed.

"So. I was sent here to try and lessen the homeless population without, well, without doing anything questionable. No easy task mind you, and one even I, the amazing Dodraki, had struggled with." He explained.

"So what are you going to do?" Brook asked.

"I was going to try my best to just get enough food for everyone, in theory people would stop stealing food if they aren't going hungry," He said, and Brook had to agree with that logic, "But then I met you, and you gave me an idea."

"What does this have to do with heroes?" He asked.

"I'm getting to that, now listen! So, this idea of mine. See, back at the capital there's a shortage of new soldiers to train, so much so that the barracks for housing new recruits are entirely empty. It's bizarre, that place when I was training was always packed full of people, but now it's like a ghost town."

Brook didn't like the sound of that. The stories of ghosts and ghouls always seemed to linger longer in his mind.

"So I connected the problems!" Dodraki said.

"Connected them how?"

"I can take all the kids who are on the streets, wash 'em up, and have them live in the barracks. They'll get food, housing, and a secure job for when they're older. And, it'll keep them of the city streets and make me look excellent." Dodraki said, and Brook took in the words. A place to sleep? Regular meals? It sounded too good to be true. But Dodraki had done nothing to suggest that he was lying, and his bright smile seemed to wash away all the badness in Brook that had developed over the course of a year.

"I've already got my men gathering up some of the locals as we speak." The captain said, gesturing to the window.

"And kid, I think you'd make a fine soldier, and every soldier in the royal army is a hero." Dodraki held out his palm to the boy, "What do you say, kid? Wanna go on an adventure?"

Brook thought that sounded pretty good. He shook hands with Dodraki yet again, and it felt like the beginning of a good thing.

* * *

Brook stood with a large crowd of kids in front of a pearly white building. It rose high into the sky, seeming to scrape at the sun.

Some, like him, were looking at their new surroundings, a place that was going to become their new home. Others were bundled into groups, whispering to each other and looking suspiciously at other kids. Some had bags, others didn't. Brook himself had only his book and his violin, which he was proud to day was immaculate.

It had taken a few days for the letter Dodraki had sent to reach the capital, and for most of the children to be collected. Then they were rounded up onto a boat with what little worldly belongings they had, and had traveled by sea for hours until they arrived at a new island. They had been standing in the courtyard ever since.

Someone finally went up to the two large oak doors and knocked on it. The kids all went silent as there seemed to be no reply, but suddenly there was muffled shouting from within the building.

"I swear, if this is that door to door salesman again-" The doors were flung open. In their wake stood a man who Brook thought was too old to be alive. He was so wrinkled, he put raisins to shame.

"What." He said, when he saw the hoard of confused and ragged children standing in front of him.

"When do we get the free meals!?" An older boy from the back shouted at the man, and he flustered.

"Just who do you think you are!?" The old man fired back, "How did- when did- If this is some prank I'm gonna rip someone's-"

The old man couldn't finish however because Dodraki chose this time to come rushing into the courtyard.

"Sorry for my delay everyone, rough tide prevented my ship from docking. Oh, I see you've met your new warden!" He said jovially.

"This is a prison!?" Someone exclaimed from the group.

"Ha! As if. It's just that ole' Dura here," He stood next to Dura and clapped him on the shoulder, "runs this place like one."

"What's going on, boy?" Dura hissed at the captain.

"Didn't you get my letter?" Dodraki asked.

"_NO!_" He snapped back, and Dodraki wiped some spit from his face.

"Well then. That complicates things. But not so much that we cannot go as planned!" Dodraki said, and Dura seemed to be in physical pain listening to the other man.

"Dodraki, what plan-" Dura was cut off.

"As you might've guessed, this is Dura." Dodraki addressed the crowd again and ignored Dura's spluttering. "He's going to be in charge of pretty much all of your lives when you're not in training. When you are in training, I'm going to be in charge!" Dodraki flashed a bright grin at the kids.

"So uh, I guess just listen to him. He's pretty strict, and not doing chores or ignoring rules can get you in serious trouble, I would know, so probably don't do that." Dodraki said, and was met with silence. Nobody dare speak as Dura was giving such a glare to the captain it looked like he could kill God.

Dodraki coughed into the awkward silence, completely oblivious to the pure hate he was receiving.

"Well, uh. I'll let you kids get situated! Dura, help them settle in, will you? I've got to clear some things up with budget manager guy, and you know how much of a pain that guy is." And with that, Dodraki turned and left, leaving Brook and the rest to be in front of a steaming old man.

"Are you new recruits?" Dura finally asked, and despite the face he said it so quietly, everyone heard. There were several words of affirmative from the crowd.

"Then what are you standing around for!? Move it! Inside, all of you, single file line. Anyone caught daydreaming will be mopping the bathrooms for the next month!"

Brook scurried to be in line, standing as straight as possible and avoiding eye contact with the old man, who Brook was now convinced was an evil wizard.

Maybe this wouldn't be as good as he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, chapter three! Most of the chapters at first will be pretty slow and short, but I promise it should pick up pace once we reach the half way point. Enjoy.**

* * *

It had been a bad day.

It started off as a good one, as more and more of Brook's days had become recently, like these things usually do. He had spent about four weeks in the training compound with the other kids, and so far, it was a good setup.

Five days a week, they'd train and go to classes and they'd get an hours of playtime right after lunch, where they'd run around the island and play games. The two other days were all theirs, and though they usually had to do chores on those days, they were still fun. It was on one of their weekends that the group of trainees had split up to play a vicious game of tag. Girls against boys, which they boys were surprisingly outnumbered in. It turned out there had been more girls on the streets then boys, and so they had nearly double the amount of players on their team than boys.

Brook and the other boys had a meeting on what to do about their disadvantage, and one brilliant soul had thought up the idea to climb the roof and scout out the area. The boy was applauded, and it sounded like such a fun idea Brook had volunteered himself to be the scout.

Two other kids hoisted him up, and then he was on the slanted roof. Promising to return with more information, he carefully made his way over to the girl's side of the island.

Then he slipped off and fell 15 feet.

He was dizzy, and he looked up to see one of the older girls, who looked to be seventeen, looking worriedly at him.

"Hey, you alright? She asked, and he blinked up at her. He sat up an squinted. Everything was so bright. He also felt fuzzy all over. That wasn't the right word. Maybe 'tingly'. He felt off.

"I... I can't feel my legs." He said instead of responding to her.

"Oh. That's... that's not good. Okay, just, stay there. I'll be right back!" She said, and then ran off. Brook sat blearily watching her go, his brain not functioning. He poked his knee and cringed at the electric shock that traveled up his thigh.

Another kid approached him. He asked much the same thing as the girl had, except he seemed much more unsure as what to do. Brook wasn't in any condition to think at the moment, so he couldn't really blame him.

The boy instead chose to sit next to Brook, and tried to keep him awake because he looked very tired apparently.

Brook tried to study the face of the boy next to him, and failed. The only feature that could be deciphered through the haze of his vision was that he wore glasses.

Any more study on the interesting concept of the kid sitting next to him on the grass was abruptly halted, as the girl came running back with Dura in tow.

He looked up at the ancient man and felt his vision going black.

"Shit. That's a nasty bruise. Hey, kid? How many fingers am I holding up?" Dura said, holding up a hand. Brook looked at the hand as if it were magic.

"Yes." He said.

"Alright, to the infirmary with you." Dura said, and Brook then found himself mysteriously transported into the older man's arms. "You two," He said, addressing the other non-concussed kids, "get the others to stop playing this infernal game, or there'll be hell to pay!"

Brook was then rushed to the facility's infirmary, but he didn't realize that until he woke up because he blacked out completely.

* * *

The ice pack was comically large against his head. Brook had bandages wrapped around his forehead, a bit of blood seeping through the white cotton.

He had a glass of juice in his hands, courtesy of Dura, who was inspecting Brook's left leg. He took a sip of juice, pear juice, and Dura nodded once to himself and then took the gauze, that was left on the table besides Brook, and wrapped it cleanly over his ankle.

"Seems like just a sprain, thankfully." He said, "You'll be able to walk and run just like you're supposed to in just a week. Consider yourself lucky, boy."

"What about my head?" Brook asked. He had woken up an hour prior, and his vision swam and everything was still too bright.

"That's a bit of another story. I had thought at first it was just a concussion, but it seems you've completely cracked your skull." Dura said, and Brook paused in drinking his juice.

"Am I gonna die!?" He asked, frantic. Dura cackled.

"Heavens no, boy! Who do you think I am? Some second rate physician? No. You'll get a nasty scar when that wound heals though, and I'm the one who's probably going to stitch it up." Dura said, and then gently patted Brook's knee. Brook relaxed.

Brook chugged the rest of his juice, and Dura waited patiently until he could ask the young boy a question.

"So, why did you think climbing the roof was a good idea?" Dura asked, and Brook had the decency to look ashamed.

"We thought it would help us win... and it sounded like fun." He admitted, and Dura only seemed to consider this.

"Well, at least you hadn't done this while Dodraki was here." He said.

"Why?" Brook asked, and an indecipherable look crossed Dura's face.

"He would've been so proud, and I'm not sure that it's a good thing to reinforce in children that brain damage is a good thing."

"I have brain damage!?" Brook yelped.

"No! I just told you that you were fine!" Dura snapped, and Brook's jaw clicked shut. Brook sat straight in the cot, fiddling with hands and not making eye contact. Dura sighed.

"Listen, I-"

Dura was cut off by a sharp knock on the heavy wooden door. He stood up from the stool he was sitting on and grumbled his way over to the entrance. He opened it and was greeted by a nervous child.

"What do you want?" Dura asked the small boy, but he held his ground.

"Can I see the guy who got sent in here earlier? The one with the curly hair?" The boy asked, and Dura conceded, albeit begrudgingly.

The boy quickly crossed the room and sat next to Brook on the stool.

"Hey." He said.

"Hey." Brook responded.

The other kid, the boy with glasses, Brook realized, was looking at him seriously.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay." He explained.

"Oh, I'm okay. Dura said I can't walk or run for a week, but other than that, I'm mostly fine." Brook said. The boy nodded.

"I'm Clef." He said abruptly.

"I'm Brook." Brook said. Clef then leaned in close to Brook and whispered loudly;

"You're the one who has that violin, right?"

"...Yes? Why do you ask?" Brook questioned, and Clef's face lit up.

"Can you... Can you show me it? Like how it works?" He asked, excited.

"Oh, um. No." Brook said, and felt bad when Clef's face fell, "I don't have the bow for it anymore, so I can't play."

"The bow is the stick part, right?" Clef asked, and Brook nodded.

"Yeah, that's how you make music. I know a bunch of songs, but I can't play them without the bow." Brook explained, and the two boys lapsed into silence.

Dura watched cautiously from where he stood by the door. Now Dura had worked in the training facility for a long time. He's taken care of all manner of rowdy trainees, but literal children were not part of that. Sure, there were the normal seventeen to eighteen year-olds he was familiar with, but then there were also the newer ten to sixteen year-olds he had to deal with. They had more energy than all the other age groups combined, but they were also the most wary of obeying those older than them. They barely trusted each other, and they were only bonded together by their shared mistrust of authority.

It was clear they did not like Dura. And to be fair, Dura hadn't done much to earn their trust. Bur perhaps there was a way to both earn their respect and prevent further accidents like this from happening again.

* * *

Brook and Clef became friends, after that. Despite Brook's inability to play, it hadn't stopped Clef from asking every little thing about music from the boy.

While Brook was still confined to the bed due to his head injury, Clef would often sit next to him and talk his ear off about anything and everything. Brook didn't mind though, it was nice to have someone who liked music as much as he did.

And through Clef's rambling, Brook learned many important things about his new friend. He had been kicked out of the house when he was eight because he had six brothers and his parents got sick of feeding another, more useless mouth, he was fourteen, he wanted to learn the cello, and his favorite food was pear-pie.

It was on Sunday when he was talking to Clef when Dodraki chose to stop by.

"Brook, my boy! Why are you in the infirmary and not outside playing games!?" Dodraki asked.

"He hit his head." Clef answered.

"And hurt my foot." Brook added.

"And why you go and do that for?" He asked.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" He said defensively. Dodraki laughed, long and loud.

"I'm just teasing you, kid! I heard you had quite the escapade on the roof, did ya not? Is it true you were trying to spy on the other team while you were playing a game?" He asked. Brook went bright red and nodded sadly. Dodraki laughed even louder.

"That's fantastic!" He said, and then held out his hand for Brook, "You get a high-five for that, kid."

"You're not upset?" Brook asked.

"Who do I look like, that old crab? No, what you did proves that I can make soldiers outta you kids yet." Dodraki said.

"What about me?" Clef asked excitedly, searching for praise.

"What about you?" Dodraki asked, and Clef deflated.

"What do you think you're doing to my patient, 'Raki?" The angry voice of Dura called from the hall.

"Oops, I've been caught." Dodraki swung on his heel and faced the wrinkly old man, "Dura, my old friend, what brings you here?"

"I'm checking in on my patient," Dura growled, "You better not be encouraging any foul behaviors, you brat."

"Who? Me?" Dodraki blinked innocently, "I would never."

Dura gave him a long cold glare. Dodraki looked coolly back, unflinching before the unstoppable force.

"What do have there, Captain Dodraki?" Clef asked, cutting off whatever silent conversation the two adults were having. Brook looked down, and lo and behold, there was a clean black box in his right hand.

"This," Dura held up the box, "Should be able to keep at least one kid out of trouble." He shot a glare at the captain, and Dodraki smiled. He walked over to Brook's cot quietly and set the box in his lap. It was long and rectangular, and the black material was either felt or silk.

"You got him a gun? At his age?" Dodraki piped in, and Dura swung around and looked ready to pummel the captain.

Brook, unperturbed, found the seam in the box and gently pried it open. Inside it was a violin bow, brand new and lying neatly in the red silk that cushioned it nicely. Holding his breath, he gently picked up the bow, and tested the white strings that were held taut.

"It's a bow!" Clef exclaimed.

Dodraki looked over to the item in Brook's hands.

"Not like any bow I've ever seen." He said.

"It's a violin bow, you twit." Dura said.

"How's that little thing supposed to shoot an entire violin?" He asked skeptically, and Dura face palmed.

Brook ran his fingers over the intricate swirls that carved into the wood. It was shiny and sleek and undoubtedly strong. It must have been expensive.

"What song should I play?!" He asked Clef excitedly, his face splitting into a wide smile. Clef grinned back, and said;

"That old sea shanty about the whale!" He said.

"Clef," Brook said seriously, and put his hand on his friend's shoulder, "You should go get my violin."

"Okay! But only because you can't leave the infirmary." Clef agreed, and darted between Dodraki's legs and out the door.

"Oh, it's a music stick for a violin! Why didn't you just say so!" Dodraki said, and Dura looked ready to cry.

"You're so stupid," Dura said into the floor, "How did you become leader of anything, you don't even have a single brain cell-"

Brook didn't listen to them, too enraptured by the songs he could now play.

* * *

Life got much better after that, which is incredible because Brook hadn't thought that it had been possible.

He and Clef, who turned out to be three years older than him, became best friends. They stuck together like glue, talking about whatever crossed their minds. Music, poetry, rhymes, they talked about it all.

The lesson they learned in their military training was more akin to the lessons he learned when Brook had still been in school, and often Clef would sneak him the answers during math. Dodraki oversaw most of their education, but often Dura would come in and teach something too.

Dodraki had been slowly introducing more and more active activities to the group, having the older kids progress faster in athletics, simply because they were older and he did not want to stress the younger ones. But eventually he managed to gather the entirety of the group, all the misfits and left over children, together and out onto a boat.

"This will be both an exercise in behavior and in history, so listen close." Dodraki said to the new recruits, who were sitting on the boat's deck watching their captain pace.

"I'll tell you now in case I haven't told you before, but getting you kids these positions in the militia was no easy feat." He said, "And this will be the first time since your arrival at the island that you will be seen by other higher-ups. Both you livelihoods and mine are on the line, so I require best behavior from everyone!"

There was a chorus of 'yes sir!' from the kids, and Dodraki looked proud. Three months had changed these kids for the better, he thought. The previous group of skittish kids were gone, and what they left in their place was the new army the kingdom needed.

Brook was sitting next to Clef, as they usually sat together, chatting quietly.

"Where do you think we're going?" Clef asked the taller boy, and Brook shrugged.

"Someplace historical?" Brook guessed. "He said it was a surprise but he also said it was something important to the empire's history, so..."

Their curiosity was alleviated within the hour, as they docked on an island that is covered with trees as far as the eye could see. But what really caught his attention, was the huge city that sat in the shoreline, carving out the trees behind it and taking up most of Brook's view. Their ship docked, and it seemed like they were expected. There was an old woman, whose eyes crinkled with wisdom, standing on the dock when Dodraki walked down the boarding plank.

"Evening!" The captain greeted, "And who might you be, miss...?"

She told him her name, and they went through casual pleasantries. He laughed loudly at a joke she told, and she laughed quietly into her hand. As the rest of the children exited the boat, the two adults turned to face them.

"This," Dodraki gestured to the old woman, "Is the coach woman of the swamp."

A wave of collective confusion passed through the kids. Sensing this, Dodraki grinned.

"That town you see behind me is Molto Vivace, city of pears. The large forest you see behind that? That's the swamp. This whole island is mostly marshland!" Dodraki said, "This fine lady right here is one of the people who can navigate the swamp, and she has agreed to give you all a tour of it for historical reasons. I brought you all here because there's a good chance most of you will end up working here." Dodraki said, and the woman smiled wryly. She seemed ancient, older than Dura or anybody Brook had ever seen.

They passed through the city on a trolley, Dodraki pointing out important landmarks and buildings along the way, and Brook drank it all in. It seemed so much cleaner than Obbligato City had ever been, and somehow even cleaner than their training headquarters. And Dura always made sure that place was spotless.

The city was huge. Bigger than big, it seemed like you could fit the entire world within the walls of the buildings the city had. The trolley they were on passed all the traffic, foot and horse alike, and it still took them until sunset to reach the other side.

Tired and stiff, the soon-to-be soldiers looked on in fear at the huge trees of the marsh. And they were big, their roots lifted the trunks up and out of the water, making the murky depths reflect a spider web of roots. The water was completely still.

There was a barge, old and wooden, sitting in the calm waters, and the old woman went and sat on the edge of it. She gestured wordlessly to the children, and quietly they boarded. Dodraki was the last to step aboard, and as soon as he did the barge was pushed along by an oar the old woman held. It was tall, taller than tall, and she scraped it against the unseen marshland floor. She did not tire from the work, she simply moved, and they were soon immersed in darkness from the canopy above.

The usually rowdy group of kids were dead silent as they passed over the thick mud. Looking up, they saw thin rays of the setting sun gleam through the branches, and with that light they saw fruits growing on the leaves above.

"Those," Dodraki said, pointing to the things growing in the trees, "Are pears." His voice stole the silence of the forest, and it seemed like the woods wanted nothing more than to steal it back.

"They're not ripe yet, but they will be in a few weeks time. This city is said to be the biggest imports of pears in the West Blue. I have had no reason yet to disbelieve these rumors." He said.

Brook peered over the side of the boat, into the murky waters. It was barely water, Brook decided. Too thick, too opaque. He could not see the bottom, giving it the illusion that the swamp was as deep as the ocean.

"People often throw things into the swamp. All the time in fact. The men stationed here have a yearly dig-out of the marsh- meaning they go fishing around in the mud and see what they can find." Dodraki said, "Things that get tossed into the water are, very strangely, preserved. Nothing rots, nothing decays."

The old woman at the front snickered. "That's why some call it haunted! With how many bodies they pull up." She cackled, much like a witch. Brook recoiled from the edge of the boat, regretting getting so close to cursed mud.

Dodraki scowled at the old woman, but did not respond directly to her.

"While that's true, that's not quite the point of this escapade." He said, "The swamp is a major part of your- of our history. It is also a place where criminals like to hide from the authorities.

"The fruit that grows here has been harvested and eaten and sold for generations. While this island is not the official capital of the royal legion, it is an unofficial second. It is the most populated island in the empire, though, and there are plenty of schools and jobs open here all the time. To lose this island to any enemy force would forever cripple the empire."

Brook sat in silence next to Clef. The other boy was looking up at the canopy in awe, seemingly unfazed by the aforementioned ghosts. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly ajar. Everything Dodraki was saying seemed to fly right over Clef's head.

Confused by his friends behavior, Brook nudged himself closer to the other boy. Clef wasn't paying attention. These were things that would be important later. Not to mention the ghosts could come and attack him if he was too distracted. The thought sent shivers up his spine.

Resolving himself, Brook sat up straight in his seat. If Clef wouldn't protect himself, Brook would.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4! It's here folks, it's here and it's real. Mild warning, there's even more ocs in this chapter, but they're not important so might kill them later idk.**

* * *

Time had passed. A lot of time, really, and Brook could barely remember what his life had been before training camp. He was sixteen, four months until his next birthday, and he was already towering over Dodraki and Dura, who were not small men by any means of the imagination.

He was currently in their dorms- their bunk rooms if he was being honest- and he was investigating the thin, long blade their leader had gifted him. A long sword, Clef had dubbed it. A Rapier, Dodraki had corrected. The hilt was lightweight and strong, but Brook thought the ornate symbol of their kingdom might weaken it, with where it was placed on the hilt. It looked nice, but an inquisitive touch told him that it was poorly tacked on, likely last minute when Dodraki picked it up at the smiths workshop and wanted it to belong to the kingdom.

He wasn't sure of it yet, used to the heavier, shorter military grade swords. Dodraki had scoffed when he had mentioned that.

"Kid- listen. You're getting tall, and I mean really tall, and I doubt you're going to stop or start shrinking any time soon. And sooner or later these shorter swords-" He gestured to his own blade sitting on his hip, "Well, for you it'll be like waving a dagger around."

And so Brook had accepted the rapier, not knowing how to progress. Dodraki had assured him that he'd get one on one training with him using his new weapon later, and he didn't know what to think of that either. Throughout the years he had his fellow trainees had discovered he was somewhat of a teacher's pet.

Brook wasn't quite sure how that was possible, he didn't even do anything to try and get their leader's attention- but he was favored all the same. His fingers trailed up to his forehead, over the long healed scar that remained on his forehead. The scar was very prominent in his eyes, though Clef said that was likely due to the fact he was the only one who could see it properly.

His hair had to be tied back for dress-code purposes. It was itchy and uncomfortable, but his hair was just too unruly to be kept un-maintained. It put his scar on full view, but that almost never the main feature people noticed. It wasn't even his height.

It was his eyes, of all things.

Over time, one of his eyes had just... gone a bit funny. At first he kept being teased for having a lazy eye, and Dura had assured him over and over that it was nothing to be ashamed of. And he accepted that for a while, until it got worse. He could still see out of it fine, if fine was wincing whenever the light got too bright was fine.

Which it wasn't. So he walked around with one pupil dilated to nearly consume his entire iris. And he wasn't yet tall enough to the point where people couldn't make eye contact with him, so they got a full view of his strange eyes.

He was odd. He knew that, when comparing himself to others, and it made him feel like the gift Dodraki had given him was less about him needing it and more about making him seem even more unique.

Brook was roused from his musings as a familiar face walked into the dorms.

"Ey! Brook, what are you doing in here all alone?" Clef asked, looking joyful. He wore a snarky, full-faced grin, one Brook had come to expect and enjoy from the other boy.

"Just thinking." Brook replied honestly, and Clef promptly sat himself down next to Brook on the bed.

"Yeah, you do that often." Clef said, and scratched his chin idly. There was a comfortable silence after that, as the two of them heard the ruckus of the others from outside.

"So, did you win?" Brook asked at last, and Clef was grinning again.

"Hell yes I did! Four to one, no competition. You should've seen me, Brook, I was zooming across the field! Someone said I was like a bullet." Clef said excitedly.

"Well, I'm sorry I missed it then." Brook said, and Clef punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Nah, I know you've been busy." Clef said, and then a but more seriously, "You'll be there for the next game though, right?"

Brook snorted.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Brook said, smiling. Clef's excited grin slid into something a bit calmer, a bit kinder. There was another lull in conversation.

"You should smile more, Brook." Clef said suddenly. Brook blinked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked. Clef faltered for a second.

"It's just- you just seem sadder lately." Clef said. Brook shook his head.

"I'm fine. What gave you that idea?" Brook asked. And he was fine. He wasn't sad- that would just be ridiculous. How could he be sad when he was learning to be a soldier?

"It's 'cause you don't smile more, you oaf!" Clef threw his hands up in the air, in a mocking exasperation. Brook let out a small laugh. Clef was just worried about him is all, like he said, Brook was getting busier and busier.

He often found himself seeking the quiet of the empty dorms more often than not these days. And that was only when he had free time. Sure, everyone on the compound had a busy schedule, But there were so many times where Brook would be called in by Dura or Dodraki or some other kid for whatever reason that he was usually too tired to go play games with his friends.

He knew that it would only get worse when Dodraki started teaching him individually. It might even cut into his sleep hours, and he shuddered at the thought.

Clef pointed at the gleaming sword in his lap.

"You still gonna take that?" Clef asked. Brook nodded.

"Yeah. Dodraki is pretty set on teaching me fencing." Brook said. Clef's presence next to him seemed much more real in that moment. In that moment, the whole world was tunneled down to just the two of them. Clef was looking at him, his face unreadable.

"You could always say no, you know." Clef said quietly. Brook frowned.

"I couldn't do that." Brook said.

"Why not?" Clef asked.

"What else would I do? He said it would impede my fighting skills to continue using the normal ones, so-" Brook was cut off.

"Brook, I-" Clef frowned deeply, brows furrowing, "I- never mind."

Brook said nothing.

"Hey, wanna sing something before the rest of the guys get here?" Brook asked at last, and the moment passed. Clef was back to grinning broadly, like he had heard the best question he could have in that moment.

Brook pulled out his violin from under his bed and flicked off a few specks of dust.

* * *

Sparring with Dodraki one on one was much different than their usual training exercises. When Dodraki had to go through each student on their own, it was in front of a dozen other people and the man never stopped talking through it.

Say what you will about the captain's pride, but he was a very good fighter.

No one had managed to 'hit' Dodraki yet. Hit as in smack him with their wooden training swords used only for practice sparring. Dodraki used his real sword though, saying he didn't like the wooden ones, and would often slice Brook's sword from the hilt, leaving him the ultimate loser in their mock battle.

When he and Dodraki were alone, but only somewhat because Dura had decided to keep watch over the two of them, he was much more intense.

Quieter, for one. The silence unnerved Brook. It had ever since he was a kid. But he didn't dare speak that out loud, especially in front of Dodraki. He could be kind, but he had also been known to try and aim for what he thought were people's weaknesses.

He accused Clef of being a girl, once. Clef, mid swing, completely faltered and Dodraki simply pushed his friend over. Brook wasn't sure what had upset him more, that his leader had made his friend so upset or that Clef had been bothered by it so much. Surely such a little insult wasn't that big of a problem? The girls were seen as just as capable fighters, after all.

But fighting Dodraki on his own was much, much more scary.

Dodraki had completely forgotten the wooden swords, and they were fighting with real blades. That was probably why Dura was there- to make sure Brook didn't skewer or get skewered. They had only used the real swords on dummies and trees, at Dura's insistence.

The rapier was light in his palms, and he felt Dodraki's calloused fingers brush over them as he described how to hold the sword and how to swing.

Brook tried his best to absorb it all, but the usual cheer the older man radiated was somehow gone in that moment. It was off putting. Dodraki had a habit of being an air-headed prankster, and an egotistical one at that. It was the Dodraki Brook had grown used to.

This quieter, more serious person he was training with was a strange deviation from the norm.

When the captain finally stepped away from Brook, it was to get into a fighting stance, his sword drawn. Brook held his rapier steady, and their duel began.

It was safe to say, like all other battles Brook had with the man, he had any hope of winning immediately smashed. Even faster than usual, too, since he didn't know quite how to hold the blade yet.

He lay on his back, scowling at the starry night sky that hung above him. The stars were mocking him, he knew. He just knew it. Dodraki's somber demeanor passed and he laughed.

"You'll get the hang of it! We'll make a captain of you yet." He said, and held out his hand for Brook to take. Cautiously, Brook to the outstretched limb before what Dodraki had said dawned on him. He stumbled to his feet, eyes wide and staring at his leader.

"W-What!?" He stammered. He looked desperately to Dura who only shrugged.

"You heard me! Or did your ears get weird too? Like your eyes? Oh God, can that happen?" He turned to Dura, "Brook isn't deaf in one ear, is he-"

"Dear Lord, shut up, you daft man and explain yourself to the boy." Dura snapped. Dodraki composed himself.

"Uh, yes right. So! We've been thinking." He said, then paused and stole a glance a Dura, "Well, I've been thinking at least, that you seem more well suited for... bigger things."

"...Like what?" Brook asked.

"Bigger things!" He threw his arms out. "Like you, my boy! I knew it when I first met you."

"No he didn't." Dura said.

"Shh!" Dodraki slapped a hand over Dura's face, "Kid, I can see it in you. You've got leadership qualities. Trust me, I would know." He gave a wide smile, "You're a hard worker, and you strike an imposing figure. You've also had the highest grade out of anybody in camp."

Brook stood there, absorbing the information. Other kids in his dorm would be ecstatic to hear this news. For some it was their only goal. But for Brook, this victory seemed hollow. He hadn't been aiming for it, he'd just been doing his thing and it had been handed to him.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to lead part of their military.

"Oh, don't look so down. It's not like you've got anything better to do." Dodraki said, still smiling.

And that was true. He didn't. Besides polishing and occasionally playing his violin, his life revolved around the island and becoming a soldier. If given the chance to do anything else, Brook wasn't sure he'd be capable. He hadn't known what to do as a child, and he certainly didn't know now.

But he guessed he wouldn't have to make those hard decisions.

"Aw, kid!" Dodraki said, shoulders slumping. "You're breaking my heart! You're going to be my protege! You'll be given a great job and get to be in charge! Eh? Eh?"

Brook winced. He hadn't meant for him to seem ungrateful.

"Um, no, it's great! I'm just- just a little overwhelmed." Brook said, but Dodraki didn't seem convinced.

Dura, on the other hand, nodded.

"He did give you little to no warning about what he was planning. It's only reasonable to be a bit smothered." Dura said. Dodraki seemed thoughtful.

"Weeellll... maybe I did bring this up a bit soon. You've only gotten your rapier a couple days ago, after all." Dodraki said, "Tell you what. We'll get you set up with your blade, give you a few lessons in leadership, and we'll see at the end if you still want to be a lackey."

Brook swallowed and nodded. He could do this. He could.

He just wasn't sure he wanted to.

* * *

He and his 'squadron' were assigned a task.

It had been six months since that fateful day that Dodraki had declared he would learn to lead. Six months of training, studying theory, and being guided by a different version of his captain only he and Dura were privy to.

He could tell the others about how different Dodraki acted when isolated... but it had never seemed like a good idea. It had never really come up in conversation either, and Brook doubted it ever would.

His 'squadron', a group of three other individuals who had as much an idea of what they were doing as Brook did, which wasn't much, consisted of Brook himself, Clef (On Brook's insistence), a girl who was apparently a good field medic, and a boy sent out because he had a habit of breaking the cleaning supplies in the dorms.

They were an odd group of mismatched people with a lot of training but no actual experience. Brook had thought it was a terrible idea, and was seconded by Dura. Dodraki had waved his concerns away.

"Nonsense!" He had said, "The only way to get experience is to go out on the field, right? You'll be fine! I'm the one who taught you, after all."

And so the four of them had been shoved unceremoniously into a boat, then into a wagon, and then into a dusty old guard post that hadn't been used in three decades.

Their task at the moment was to protect a small village from a rising number of thieves in the area.

They had just been settling into the outpost when Clef broke the silence that had permeated the air since their arrival.

"Do we even know the name of this place?" He asked, and the girl- Shora?- blinked.

"No, I don't think Captain Dodraki told us." She said.

"Shouldn't we be calling Brook captain? Or is a squadron leader called something else?" The boy, Nickle, whose name was only familiar to Brook due to the repeated shouts of Dura who found the kid wandering through the facility late at night.

"Um, Brook is fine." Brook said, drawing their attention, "But Dodraki say you've got to call me captain when were out working. It's, um, good work practice, he said."

He felt a bit sheepish. He wasn't used to being in charge, and he realized he now had many responsibilities. He was supposed to brief them on their mission, since the higher ups didn't. He hadn't thought of that until just then, even though he had gone over it a dozen and a half times on paper.

"Oh ho!" Clef said, smiling, "Big man now, aren't ya Brook? Or should I say Captain Brook?"

"Pftt, I guess." Brook said, a corner of his mouth twitching upward.

There was another silence. Even more awkward this time, since they were all gazing at him.

"Oh! Right, the task." He straightened himself up to his full height, reciting what he had learned during Dodraki's lessons. "We've been sent by our sector leader, Captain Dodraki, to take care of the thieves that have been stealing from this town. We believe that there's at least four of them, but no more than eight. They have no notable weapons or powers, but they are exceptionally fast by thief standards."

He had gotten their full attention, and he could see each of them absorbing the information. Clef was the easiest to read, being his friend for as long as he had, and he looked serious and genuine. The other two were a bit harder to read, but it wasn't like they were hiding anything (Dodraki had made him study when people were lying, the various tells, the ways their stories lined up, and in the end he told Brook to trust his gut, as it was the one thing that would never betray him.)

They were serious as well. Guard work was no joke, and it seemed he had a group who knew that. That was a good thing, he felt.

"And what town is it?" Shora, it was definitely Shora, asked.

Brook suddenly felt fidgety, and his posture slouched.

"Aubade." Brook said, a bit quieter. Clef's eyes widened.

"Isn't that...?" He asked.

"Yeah. It is." Brook said.

* * *

Brook's hometown had shrunk since he'd been there last.

Now he knows that isn't true, buildings don't shrink, nor do people or plants. If anything it had grown in the years he'd been away. He knows that it is him who had changed- he's grown taller. Taller than most of the rooftops, to be literal.

But it was so surreal to him. He'd catch a glimpse of something he remembered, a certain street corner, a shop that sold candy, a tree with a certain gnarled root, and he marveled how it had stayed the same.

It had stayed the same but he'd changed. So much.

He and his squadron were walking down the street, single file line. He kept his back straight, his gaze forward, his face blank. He knew the others were likely doing the same. Or at least he hoped so.

They were getting stares. This was for a multiple of reasons. One of which was the simple fact that they were guards. Very young guards.

Brook remembered not having the protection of the guard when he was young, he remembered the adults often complaining about it, a few of them even arming themselves and sitting outside their houses hours after the sun had set. Brook had lived in a better part of town, so his parents didn't have to worry too much about thieves or arson.

But he remembers others weren't so lucky.

So seeing four armed guards just saunter through town must have been a shock to a lot of people. Some of them even looked hopeful. He was sad to say that they wouldn't be staying long.

He wondered if any of them recognized him. Maybe, he thought, maybe.

They were going to the town hall, which Brook remembered to be a small building with a small garden growing outside it.

The garden had grown since he'd been there last, that much he could see. Bigger, untamed, vibrant colors mingling with dull browns.

As Brook walked up the steps, squadron in tow, he wondered about his father. He had avoided thinking about his father. For a long time, really, so long in fact that simply being back where he was born felt startling. He wondered if the man was alive. He wondered if he felt bad for what he did. He wondered if he had gotten caught and was rotting in a jail cell.

He wondered if the man was really his father at all.

* * *

Dealing with the thieves was laughably easy in the end. Stupidly easy, in fact. They had arrived in the town hall, Brook had explained their presence, and the mayor had a good laugh as he explained that the request for help from the royal army had been sent out nearly fifteen years prior.

Brook had gaped a little at that. It turns out the town of Aubade had created some kind of neighborhood watch in his absence, and had been mostly crime free ever since. And it- it made sense. If you waited for years on end for assistance and got none, you learned to adapt. The thieves, a gang of unruly teenagers lead by their college professor of all people, had taken to stealing. They had been long taken care of, the professor behind bars and the teenagers moved on.

He had been handed a copy of the official request, and sure enough, it was fifteen years out of date. He asked if he could keep the copy. The mayor had laughed and shrugged and told him it was his. He folded it up and stuffed it into his pocket.

How could they just ignore an official request for so long? For fifteen years, these people had heard neither word or breath from the people who were supposed to protect them.

It didn't sit well with Brook.

But, with their task 'completed' they could return home. But they had just gotten there, and surely they could wait a single day to recuperate. A single day to get their bearings and just relax.

An inquisitive glance at his squadron told him they deserved that much.

"So," Clef said, sitting beside Brook on cot in the guard house, "We're just going to chill here for a day?"

Brook nodded, "I think so. I don't want to be on another cart for at least twelve hours." Brook rather hated the horse drawn carts they used on this island, they made him sick to his stomach.

"Thank God." Nickle said, and flopped onto his own cot. Shora pulled a book out of her bag and began reading. Brook was also interested in just reclining and getting a nice nap, when he noticed Clef's expression. He knew that expression.

"...what." Brook asked, suspicious. Clef was grinning, but it was a smug, mischievous grin that Brook had seen on him whenever he was going to do something that would likely get him in trouble.

"You think there's a discount on pastries for royal guards?" Clef asked. Brook raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe?"

Clef then reached into his own bag and pulled out a purse, of all things. He cracked it open and revealed it was filled with coins.

"Where'd you get that?" Shora asked, surprised. Brook agreed. As much as he didn't feel like it, they were all still technically guards in training. They didn't get paid. It was only the faith he had in his friend that kept him from suspecting Clef of theft.

"Life's collection." He said proudly, patting the small purse, "Been working the cleaning biz for so long, I've gotten used to checking the cracks for loose change. There's a lot. If there's no work to be done here... well."

"Why not a night on the town instead?" Clef said, and Brook found himself grinning along with him.

* * *

That night had been the most fun Brook had had in a long time. They had shed a lot of their military clothes, enough to look less like guards and just fairly well dressed. Of course, after they had walked directly through town no one would be convinced they weren't guards, but that was okay. It was only a day they were staying anyway.

With Clef's money, which he insisted on spending all of, they bought as much candy as they could and stuffed their faces. Which promptly lead to a game of tag, which Brook was the victor of, which lead to another game, which lead to them telling stories to making up stories to singing to walking down the street trying to get back to their post for the night.

The whole night passed far too quickly for Brook, for too fast for any of them really. He hadn't realized how boring the training island had become until he was off of it. And the inhabitants of Aubade were welcoming, waving whenever they passed, or sneaking another piece of candy into their bag when they thought he wasn't looking.

"Okay, holy hell dude, you've got some pipes!" Shora said to Brook, and he beamed.

"Yeah he does! You should hear him when he has his violin- he's fantastic!" Clef said, proudly.

"Do you know any songs?" Nickle asked, looking up at the taller boy. Brook shrugged.

"A few." He said modestly, "Only thirty three."

"Wow!" Nickle exclaimed, impressed.

"I could teach you guys some of the lyrics if you wa-" Brook froze.

They had been walking down the street, the sun just beginning to dip below the horizon. There were neat rows of houses and homes on either side of the street, and Brook's gaze flitted over something that felt like a knife to the eye.

"...Brook? You okay there?" Clef asked quietly. He put his hand on Brook's shoulder.

Brook glanced down at his friend. He realized Clef hadn't really changed from the day they had met. He was taller, yes, but his smile was just as bright and his eyes just as kind. How much had Brook changed? It felt like a lot. It felt like everything and nothing had changed all at once, and it was confusing.

Clef had once conceded to him, late at night when all others were asleep, that he wanted to perform ballet. He wanted to dance, and he felt stifled in the environment on the island. But he was doing okay, wasn't he? Had been smiling just a few moments ago. He wasn't smiling now. He was concerned.

Brook took a step towards the building, cautiously, as if afraid it might vanish like a mirage. He swallowed.

"You guys should get back to the outpost. I want- I need to check some things out." Brook said at last. Shora and Nickle deflated. They seemed disappointed, but there was also a hint of worry in their eyes as well.

They knew better than to press whatever was eating at their captain's mind.

Clef, however, did not know better.

"You guys go ahead," Clef said, "I'll catch up."

With a small wave a little goodbye, Brook and Clef were left alone.

There was silence, and there was the whistle of the wind, and there was his pulse heavy in his ears, and there was a soft hand still set on his shoulder.

Brook looked back to the house.

He lived there, once upon a time. But that was long ago, and the house seemed to be the only thing in Aubade that hadn't shrunk, but had gotten bigger. It loomed over him, in all its disrepair.

"Wanna check it out?" Clef asked.

"Yes." Brook said quietly.

"Want me to come with?"

"Yes."

It was abandoned. He's not sure what he expected. Maybe his dad would be there. Maybe a new family would be there. Maybe the blood would still be fresh on the floor, a body long forgotten but not rotten. A ghost? A ghoul? He was scared of what he'd find, but he found nothing in the end.

"Not even a clue." He muttered. Clef spared him a glance.

"I'm guessing it looked a bit different last time you were here?" Clef asked. Brook nodded, a bit more grim than he expected to be.

"Brighter." Brook said. And it had been, hadn't it? Bright candles, bright sunlight, bright smiles, a bright future.

Clef's hand slipped into his without his notice. He squeezed his fingers.

"It's pretty dark now, isn't it?" Clef said.

"Yes." Brook said.

"Then let's go." Clef said.

Clef had once said the training island was stifling, stuffy. Brook hadn't understood. He thinks he might understand now, if his feelings towards the oppressive darkness was anything to go by.

* * *

Brook stared his violin down as if it had cut his hair. It glinted mockingly at him- the only reason it was so shiny was because he polished it. Its bow sat heavy in his palm. If he brought the bow to the taut strings, he could make music. This he knew. This he knew more than anything else, more in tune with the strings of a violin than tides of war.

He ran his fingers down the smooth wood. It might be the last time he ever touched it, after all.

When they had returned home after their 'task', they had come to the startling realization that there had been an attack threat on the kingdom. A serious one, too, since it was not a group of rowdy pirates or stubborn bandits.

It was one of the four families.

This, in and of itself, was a disaster waiting to happen, and Brook was surprised it hadn't happened sooner. All of the families that ruled the West Blue were territorial. They fought with each other over what little islands they found important to include in their corrupt empire.

Brook's kingdom was one of the only countries exempt from the feud. The king and queen fought tooth and nail to keep their country free, their small cluster of islands free from outsider rule. And for a while it seemed like they were safe. Their navy was nothing to sneeze at- and they were all trained very well.

He would know.

Brook had heard stories of the battles the previous soldiers fought. He learned the main reason the kingdom had allowed a hundred or more orphaned children to become soldiers was because they had lost a lot of men in those battles. Most of them, in fact.

And now those children, now full grown, were taking after their predecessors. Echoes of the past seemed to be theme for his life lately. Whispers from his mother, his old teachers, from his father floated past him like leaves. Brittle and dry and dead, but still recognizable and still important.

Being a musician is not a liable career choice, not for him. Never for him. He had never had that choice, he sees now. Other people, the lucky ones, they got to choose. Where to work, where to live, who to be. But things just weren't like that for Brook. The world didn't need- didn't want his simpler talents. It needed leaders, warriors, someone to look up to.

A bit literal in this case, Brook thought sourly.

The violin sat heavy in his lap. It would be so easy to play. He'd done so a thousand times before, and he thought he would be able to play it a thousand times more. He supposed fate had other plans.

Dodraki was leaving. He had lead the troops against the families before- he knew how they fought. He knew the best plans of action, best counter defenses, best everything.

He thought he'd be going with him. What else was all his training for? The special treatment? He thought he'd be right in the thick of it- putting his skills to use. The thought made him sick, made him scared. He felt too young to fight a war.

But he'd do it. He'd go out there and he'd give it his all. And that scared Brook the most. The ignited fire that frothed at his heart when the news of a southern island being burnt to ash. He would go to war, and by all the stars in the sky he'd win it.

Brook knew somehow, that if he fought against the four families, he would not accept failure. It was inconceivable, unreal, fake, an illusion, the only options were success or death.

Brook was afraid to die. He could admit it- he hated the thought of becoming a ghost or a zombie or -God forbid- a skeleton. He didn't like thinking about the afterlife, or what he'd become in a coffin the day he died.

But it also seemed fate understood this, too.

Dodraki said he was not going to the front lines. He was to stay behind, guard the main islands. If they fell, there would be no hope. He would be their first defense, and Brook would be their last.

He would likely not be waging war. The thought relieved and angered him. Confusing emotions clawed their way around his lungs, and he found it difficult to breathe. Dodraki had defended the kingdom's borders with far less soldiers than he had now, and he had never let a single enemy troop near the inner islands.

But it was still a lot of weight on Brook's shoulders. He would be Captain, not for a task, not for training, he would Be In Charge.

Captains didn't have time for music. He had seen how Dodraki worked- he worked himself to the bone. It was a miracle the man could smile at all. Brook thought he might crack under pressure. The idea of so many people depending on him brought so much excitement and anxiety with it it felt like he could choke.

Tears blurred his vision. He wiped them away with his sleeve.

There was no place for songs in battle. No place for prose in war. No place for music in Brook. The anger swelled- and Brook stood abruptly from where he sat on the bed. He held his- the violin by the neck in a furious grip, and swung down.

There was just no place for it. No place.

Someone caught his wrist and the violin never hit the ground. A few of the strings snapped under Brook's grip.

Brook didn't look up. He stared at the floor, at his feet. He didn't know who stopped him. It might be Clef. It seemed like something he would do. Their hand was rough and calloused. Tears blurred his vision. He tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to break free of his throat and failed.

His tight posture fell, and the violin slipped from his hand. Again, it didn't hit the ground. The pressure on his wrist eased, and Brook found himself slouching forward into the person's shoulder, clutching them fiercely.

"It would be a right shame to lose an instrument so pretty, Captain."

It was Dura. Of course it was- he was back on the training island. Of course it was. He cried harder. Dura rubbed circles into his back.

"It's okay." Dura muttered, "It's okay to cry."

He shouldn't be crying at all, Brook knows, but he can't stop. He's crying out all the tears he won't be able to shed in the future. There was no place.

Not for him.


End file.
